.

But, when he once more stood in front of them after taking a few steps
across the room, he saw that they were holding each other's hands, like
two friends in distress, trying to give each other courage; and, again
yielding to a sudden impulse of hatred, for a moment beside himself, he
gripped the man's arm:

"I forbid you--By what right--? Is she your wife? Your mistress? Then--"

His voice became perplexed. He himself felt the strangeness of that fit
of anger which suddenly revealed, in all its force and all its blindness,
a passion which he thought dead. And he blushed, for Gaston Sauverand was
looking at him in amazement; and he did not doubt that the enemy had
penetrated his secret.

A long pause followed, during which he met Florence's eyes, hostile eyes,
full of rebellion and disdain. Had she, too, guessed?

He dared not speak another word. He waited for Sauverand's explanation.
And, while waiting, he gave not a thought to the coming revelations, nor
to the tremendous problems of which he was at last about to know the
solution, nor to the tragic events at hand.

He thought of one thing only, thought of it with the fevered throbbing of
his whole being, thought of what he was on the point of learning about
Florence, about the girl's affections, about her past, about her love for
Sauverand. That alone interested him.

"Very well," said Sauverand. "I am caught in a trap. Fate must take its
course. Nevertheless, can I speak to you? It is the only wish that
remains to me."

"Speak," replied Don Luis. "The door is locked. I shall not open it until
I think fit. Speak."

"I shall be brief," said Gaston Sauverand. "For one thing, what I can
tell you is not much. I do not ask you to believe it, but to listen to it
as if I were possibly telling the truth, the whole truth."

And he expressed himself in the following words:

"I never met Hippolyte and Marie Fauville, though I used to correspond
with them--you will remember that we were all cousins--until five
years ago, when chance brought us together at Palmero. They were
passing the winter there while their new house on the Boulevard Suchet
was being built.

"We spent five months at Palmero, seeing one another daily. Hippolyte and
Marie were not on the best of terms. One evening after they had been
quarrelling more violently than usual I found her crying. Her tears upset
me and I could not longer conceal my secret. I had loved Marie from the
first moment whe